


economy sized.

by vantas



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Married Life, Morning Routines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 15:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13767285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vantas/pseuds/vantas
Summary: He doesn't bother to quiet his footsteps as he approaches his husband from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist before resting his chin on the crown of his head. "Smells good," he comments, idly.Keith sniffs the air in a way Shiro knows is overly exaggerated, not pausing for a moment as he places the bowl back on the kitchen counter.  "Oh, yeah," he responds, "Totally. Can't smell whatever died in your mouth anymore."Or: Shiro, Keith, and mornings after the war.





	economy sized.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a gift for [bunnyloo](https://bunnyloo.tumblr.com/) as part of the [Sheithlentines](https://sheithlentines.tumblr.com/) exchange on Tumblr, using the prompt "soft older sheith being domestic and happy." I originally wanted to toss this up on Valentine's Day, but, uh. Sad trumpet noises at grad school, I guess. 
> 
> Regardless, I hope you're able to enjoy it!

Shiro's mornings tend to go like this nowadays:

Sunlight filtering through the open windows, accompanied by a gentle breeze that manages to raise goosebumps against his exposed skin.  A heavy weight crushing his left arm, rendering the limb numb and impossible to move.  A warm body pressed against his own to the point of being uncomfortably hot, arms encircling his waist and dashing any hopes of escape.  Messy black hair shoved against his face, some of it getting inside his mouth every time he does so much as twitch it open.  The sheets are long gone by now, most likely kicked off the bed by a pair of slender legs at some point of the night — but it's okay.  If he were given the choice to change any of this with no strings attach, presented with the opportunity to set his limbs free and to get rid of the uncomfortable heat pressed against his side, he wouldn't.

He wouldn't give up the privilege of waking up every morning next to Keith for anything in the world.

He's vaguely aware of the alarm blaring at full volume right next to him, his husband's cellphone vibrating in sync with the application's klaxon wailing.  He knows this mean it's 6:00 AM by now, that they only have an hour and a half to get ready and head out before they're horribly late — but Shiro can't bring himself to care.  Not when Keith is laying right next to him, his breath fanning against Shiro's clavicle as he proceeds to demonstrate his recently acquired (if _within the last year_ can be called recent) ability to sleep through anything and everything.  Even though it's been nearly a decade since the end of the war, it's still boggling to realize they've been granted the opportunity to live a peaceful, relatively uneventful life after everything that's happened.

Without giving it much thought, he reaches up with his right hand to card his fingers through Keith's hair.  It's a tangled mess, some of it sticking to his neck with overnight sweat, but his husband is no less gorgeous for it.  Every morning he gets to wake up next to Keith is a _gift_ , and he never stops feeling shaken to his core by the fact that the other paladin decided to stay by his side after everything was said and done.  After all, he _knows_ Keith.  He understands the fire that burns at his core.  He has intimate knowledge of Keith's endless curiosity, and he knows how easily he could have chosen to sate it by setting off with some of the others to explore the far reaches of the galaxy.  He could have even decided to stay with the Blade of Marmora, opting to be among his mother's kin.

But he didn't. 

( _There is a smaller, slimmer hand curled around Shiro's own own.  The palm is rough and calloused from wielding a weapon; the inside of the thumb in a similar state from grasping the controls of one too many warships. It's far too cold in the middle of Olkarion's own version of winter, but Keith's smile is enough to make him feel like he's ready to overheat._

_"It's okay, Shiro," he tells him, rubbing his thumb over Shiro's knuckles.  One by one, their comrades have begun to say their goodbyes.  Ships are flying overhead, casting shadows on the ground as Keith wastes precious time remaining by the Black Paladin's side.  He knows the other paladins still remain on Olkarion — but it won't be long before they part ways to map out their next adventure, now that the last vestiges of the Empire's control across the galaxy have been throughly decimated.  Peace is an odd concept, seeming more like an impossible dream than an imminent reality after ten thousands year of war._

_But it's happening._

_Even so, Shiro's heart hammers against his sternum.  Something is caught in his throat, and though he's not unhappy, he doesn't know what to do with this.  "Are you sure?" he asks, for what may very well be the nth time. "We're not going to see a lot of action on Earth.  Politics are pretty boring."_

_There's something of an odd expression on Keith's face, the corner of his lips tilting upwards as he squeezes Shiro's hand.  "I'm sure I'll find something to keep me occupied," he replies, meeting Shiro's gaze without fail. "Nothing's ever boring as long as I get to be with you."_

_It's a bit hilarious, in a way, that it's not until Shiro finds himself pulled down into a kiss months later, that he understands what he meant._ )

Beside him, Keith begins to stir.

Shiro tucks a stray strand of hair behind his husband's ear as the man groans, burying his head further against the crook of Shiro's neck.  The alarm is lovelorn and unattended, its shrieking increasing in volume with each passing second.  When trying to melt into Shiro's chest obviously does little to stifle the sound, Keith's arm sluggishly reaches out in search of his cellphone — to no avail.  It's a sight so hilarious, Shiro can't help but to laugh.

"Hey, there," he says, doing absolutely nothing to help him find the phone among the mess that is their bed. "You'll have an easier time if you sit up, you know."

The sound that comes out of Keith's mouth cannot, technically, be classified as either human _or_ galran.  It is somewhere between the guttural groaning of a _haftugraiul_ in its death throes and the petulant whining of a 5-year-old child who has been denied a trip through the McDonald's drive through.  Unnatural, unnerving, and completely and utterly _exaggerated._

" _No_ ," his husband grunts out, blindly slapping his hand against the mattress until it makes contact with something a little more solid than memory foam.  Dragging the phone towards him, he pushes one of the buttons on the device's side and finally, _finally_ gets the alarm to shut up.  The bedroom is plunged into comfortable silence, only the faraway chirping of the birds outside their home serving as background noise to their morning ritual.

Shiro _feels_ more than he sees or hears his husband sigh, Keith shifting against him as he proceeds to untangle himself from Shiro's body.  He pulls the phone towards him, tapping the screen thrice as he furrows his eyebrows.  One of his eyes is noticeably sticky with sleep gunk, gathered at the edges while Keith begins to absentmindedly pick bits and pieces of it from his eyelid.  Shiro takes the opportunity to stretch his left arm while Keith catches up on whatever happened when they were sleeping, bones popping as the sensation of pins and needles covers the numb limb.  It's only after he's certain he won't end up with a matching prosthesis on both sides, that he allows himself to lean down and press a kiss against his husband's temple.

Keith smiles up at him, finger frozen over his left eye as he looks away from his phone's screen.  Unsurprisingly, he looks like he's seconds away from falling back asleep, a trail of dried drool noticeable on his chin now that Shiro can get a better look at him. 

He's still the most gorgeous person Shiro has seen in his entire life, though.

"Good morning," Keith says, voice pitched low with drowsiness.

"Morning," Shiro says in return, moving in closer to kiss him for a second time.  It's all very romantic — up until Keith scrunches up his nose in obvious disgust while ( _gently_ ) pushing his husband away from him.

" _Wow_ ," he chuckles, eyebrows raised high. Even as he pinches his nose shut and scoots away from him, there's still a smile on his lips. "Morning breath.  Go use the mouthwash, _Shiro the Hero_."

The reaction is instantaneous. Shiro groans at him as a warm sensation spreads through his body, burning his neck, cheeks and ears. " _Don't_ ," he blurts out, shamefully. "I thought we agreed not to bring that up again."

"I don't remember that being part of our prenuptial," Keith tells him, far too cheekily for someone who was all but hissing at the morning sunlight minutes ago.

" _Keith_ ," Shiro says, wearily.

His husband's only response is to laugh, moving to sit on the side of the bed as he shoves his feet into his slippers.  Keith's back is marred with scars from their days fighting in the war, the gnarled, mangled slash on his shoulder from the trials paling in comparison to everything else he sustained as a member of the Blades of Marmora.  Fighting from the confines of a ridiculously humongous machine is, as it turns out, relatively _safe_ despite the amount of times Shiro found himself in the front lines.  Fighting as a single soldier with nothing but a knife in your hand and an armored suit, however, is not.  As always, Shiro's stomach clenches uneasily as he realizes how close he came to losing Keith time and time again.

But it's over now.

Zarkon is gone.  The Empire is no longer a threat.  New interstellar laws and regulations have slowly been drafted and signed, Allura and several other leaders from across the galaxies ushering forward an era of peace.  Their lives are no longer constantly at stake. As strange as it feels, the worst of what they've encountered recently consists of the occasional fisticuff (the mugger had it coming) or a kerfuffle over how to handle the recent influx of human and alien hybrids.

All in all, things have been going relatively well.

Keith stands up, dragging his feet as he steps away from the bed and towards the door.  He glances back at Shiro, his expression so bright and earnest that it causes his heart to skip a beat.  "Come on," Keith tells him, tone filled with adoration. "I'll wash up downstairs and get breakfast ready while you use the bathroom, okay?"

Shiro raises an eyebrow, unsubtly raising a hand to his mouth to test his own breath. "You don't want to join me?"

"Maybe later," Keith replies, rolling his eyes at him. "Get moving before I leave without you, dude." 

Despite the halfhearted threat, it still takes him a whole whooping minute to extract himself from the bed, too busy being floored by how _lucky_ he is.

When he's done using the bathroom, he finds Keith pouring pancake mixture from a bowl into a skillet over the stove.  A distinct sizzling sound reaches Shiro's ears, accompanied by the chattering of the journalists on the morning news.  He doesn't bother to quiet his footsteps as he approaches his husband from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist before resting his chin on the crown of his head.

"Smells good," he comments, idly.

Keith sniffs the air in a way Shiro knows is overly exaggerated, not pausing for a moment as he places the bowl back on the kitchen counter.  "Oh, yeah," he responds, "Totally. Can't smell whatever died in your mouth anymore."

"Haha," Shiro deadpans, burying his face in Keith's hair. "What're you making, baby?"

He feels Keith shift, an arm reaching in the direction of the sink seconds before the faucet is turned on.  From the corner of his eyes, he can see his husband rinse a spatula, shutting the faucet off and drying the utensil with a paper towel.  "Pancakes. Eggs. Coffee. Wanted to add bacon to that, but _someone_ didn't read the grocery list correctly."

"Hey..." Shiro begins, while Keith continues working the stove. 

"I'm kidding," his husband cuts in, gently jabbing his elbow against Shiro's side. Or, as gently as a man who has dedicated half of his life to defending the universe _can_ be.  "Help me set up the table while I finish these last pancakes?"

He's pressing a kiss against the crown of Keith's head before untangling himself from him, a smile tugging at his lips.  "Yes, sir."

Keith's huff of laughter is hard to miss, even when he's rummaging through the cupboards in search of plates, mugs and utensils for their breakfast.  He leaves the plates by Keith's side on the counter, taking the opportunity to fill up their respective mugs.  Their design alone makes it obvious they were a gift from the Holt siblings. But regardless of what anyone else may think, he can't bring himself to feel offended over the fact they chose to bestow him with a princess themed mug during their last get-together, Keith's own mug displaying a dashing knight to compliment the other.

It's accurate, after all.  His husband (his best friend, his lifelong companion, his _hero_ ) has rescued him more times than he can count.  It's a debt Shiro isn't sure he'll ever be able to repay.

Once everything is done and ready for consumption, Keith joins him at the dinner table.  Two sunny side-up eggs stare back at him, arranged on top of a stack of pancakes like a pair of eyes. 

"I wanted to make a smiley face," Keith explains, casually pouring a third of their available syrup on top of his own stack. "But... you know... no bacon."

"I thought you were kidding about that?" Shiro asks, between a mouthful of pancakes.

"Yeah," Keith replies, without missing a beat. "But we still have no bacon."

In the background, the morning news continues to play, reporting something about new hoverbike regulations and initiatives to push through new license requirements in light of the technological advancement spurred on by their intergalactic neighbors.  Shiro watches as Keith rolls his eyes, reaching for the remote control to flip through the channels.  When nothing more interesting than badly aged morning cartoons and sensationalist news pops up, he has no choice than to admit defeat.

It's a little funny, in a way.

"Have you heard anything from Allura and the coalition?" he asks, in an attempt to make conversation.  They're not really missing out on anything by ignoring the television, at this point.

Keith gives him a one armed shrug, taking a sip from his mug. "Not really," he says, an odd look on his face. "Last I heard, Allura was with Lance looking for aliens who might have altean blood.  That was... I don't know, three weeks ago? Not that recent."

Shiro hums, thoughtfully.  He doesn't really need to ask to understand what Keith's thinking; the downward tilt of his lips and the furrowing of his brows serving as blatant indicators.

Allura isn't the only one who lost her family to the war.  The grief that follows the death of a parent is something Keith empathizes with very, very well.

 _Do you think she'll find them?_ is on the tip of his tongue, the loss of Altea and its people a heavy weight on his heart by proxy. 

But he doesn't ask.

Instead, he makes a show out of glancing at the television screen, focusing on the numbers at the corner of the screen. "What hour were we supposed to meet with Hunk and the balmerans?"

Keith blinks, more or less licking his plate at this point. "Uh... eight?"

"Well," Shiro begins, "If we're not out that door in the next ten minutes, they're going to sign the trade deal without us."

Whatever expletive might have left Keith's mouth at that moment is lost to the ruckus he makes as he rushes to clean up after himself, ceramic clinking against the stainless steel surface of their sink.  Slowly, Shiro takes a sip from his own coffee mug as he watches his husband run upstairs to fetch his armor, a warm sensation filling up his heart.

(And even if someone offered him the opportunity to go back to simpler times, far before the conception of the Kerberos mission and his enrollment at the Galaxy Garrison — Shiro wouldn't give his current life up for anything in the world.  He would not avoid the scars littered across his body, the phantom ache of a missing limb or the memories that haunt him throughout the night.  He wouldn't even try to prevent the loss of innocence that came with his imprisonment, or the years that he lost to the war.

After all — that would mean giving up the privilege of holding Keith's hand, of calling him his husband and knowing they will spend the rest of their lives together.

He wouldn't have it any other way.)

**Author's Note:**

> find me on: [tumblr](http://carcinology.tumblr.com/) • [twitter](https://twitter.com/beheads).


End file.
